Tuesday, June 30, 2009

I am so tired. I am tired of taking care of everyone and everything. I am tired of always being the optimistic one. I am tired of going without so you can have whatever you want. I am tired of leaving my baby at home* while I work five days a week. I am tired of NEVER having enough money. I am tired of not having enough money and no groceries, tired of begging LITERALLY begging for food money. I am tired of saying that it could be worse. I KNOW IT COULD BE WORSE BUT GOD DAMMIT THIS IS BAD TOO. I am tired of putting on a happy face and taking deep breaths and continuing on. I WANT TO GIVE UP. I want to quit my job quit paying bills and quit leaving my baby. I want to sit on my fat ass and collect welfare and live off of someone else for a while. I want to quit hearing “But your better than that” FUCK BETTER THAN THAT. I want to be that, I want to be lazy and irresponsible and 22. I am 22 years old and I feel like I’m 40! This is fucking ridiculous. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t be this person anymore. I want to scream until my throat bleeds and cry until my eyes cannot cry any longer. I want buy pretty shiny things FOR MYSELF. I want to stop doing dishes and laundry. I just want to be happy again. I know that this will pass and that suffering is normal and I WILL get over this but for RIGHT NOW I just want to be angry and sad. I want someone to tell me that it’s ok and right now it’s shitty and that’s ok too and I want someone to rub my feet and get me a hot cup of tea.

That felt great. Already I'm feeling better - always the eternal optimist. *BTW - just to clarify I don't leave him at home alone! Ha-ha he is with a baby sitter.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

A little background: my father-in-law is remarried to a woman not much older than my husband and I. She has tried to come between fil and us (and has pretty much managed to do it). Trust me there is more to this story than I can put on here for fear of it being discovered and used against me.

To my fil: I wish you would grow some balls. Your son was only home from a freaking combat zone for just under a month. You did not call him when he got home, amazingly you were on "vacation" AGAIN when he got home. He finally called you. You were not home. He spoke to you three times while he was home and saw you only twice, for a total of two hours. You could not even get away from your WIFE to come see him before he left.

In the last couple of years you have gradually crawled up your wife's pussy and cut your grandkids and your son out of your life. I don't care what you and your c*nt of a wife think about me, but DO NOT TAKE IT OUT ON MY HUSBAND OR OUR KIDS.

Do you even see what it is doing to your son, how he hurts for a little attention from his father. You do not know your grandchildren. You have not seen either one of them in over six months. How dare you even claim that you know how they are doing, do you really even care? Are you scared of your wife is that why you don't see them?

My friends tell me not to let it bother me, they don't seem to see that it is not me that is hurting, it is my children and my husband. That is why I get so fucking pissed off. I don't like seeing them hurt. The youngest I don't think it bothers as much, it has pretty much been this way since the youngest was born. It is the oldest, the oldest has seen it become this way.

My husband does not deserve to be treated as crap. He is your blood, your flesh and blood, how can you do this to your own son? How can you treat your grandchildren this way?

I know this does not make sense, I just needed to get it off my chest. I just got back from the airport from putting him on a plane to go back to that combat zone and he was hurting from his father not coming and seeing him before he got back on the plane.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Is loving someone really enough? Is it enough to forgive wrong doings? To move on from past hurt, so much hurt? Can love make you trust someone again even though you have been so thoroughly hurt?

I love/d you. I did everything I could for you to make you happy. I was there when you went through one of your biggest hurts, through a time that I thought you just might fall. All the way. I trusted you with every secret I had, with every pain, thought or emotion I had. I put myself on the line for you, did everything I was always afraid to do. To trust someone explicitly with my heart. To actually say that I love you and to not be scared. To accept parenting advice without getting defensive. I let you into my family at a time that I should have been scared to but we just clicked. It just worked, we worked. We didn't have to try hard to get along, we never had to explain ourselves, we just got each other. Then. She is where it all went wrong. You didn't like one part of me, one you were not willing to share with me, something sooo easily fixed that all you had to say was the word and I would have done it. I would have done it happily and done it for you. But she came along, she knew about me, she fucking met you when we were together. She was there for you when you needed it but I didn't know. I suspected as much, asked you and you lied. YOU LIED TO ME. We ended and I hurt. I moved on but I didn't get over you. It takes so much effort for me to reveal who I am, so much effort for me to be comfortable and you took that and left me.

We didn't talk for months and all I heard was that you were miserable, I just didn't understand why we broke up. Then I found out about her, the one I asked about and then dropped because you said it was nothing. It was nothing at first. Then she got you, she got the one part of you that I didn't. We stayed in contact throughout your whole relationship, on and off. We tried to just be friends but we often went to far and I never felt bad about it. I never cared because I didn't care about her feelings. I still don't care. Now you are over and you realized you made a mistake. You want to make up for it, you are a different person but we are not sure if we can be together. Are you really sure you're not going to up and leave again? Can I love you enough to trust you?

Every day I fight with believing you again. Everyday I have to remind myself that I finally got the one aspect of you that I never had before, that it is obvious you have changed. You are trying to change.

I am already in too far to walk away unscathed but I might be able to walk away with some of my heart and my pride in tact. She still calls occasionally, she knows about me. She doesn't know everything but she knows enough and I am glad. I am a bad person for being glad that she got hurt, so she can know some of the pain that I felt. I know it's wrong but I am. I unintentionally hurt you so you hurt me again and I forgave you again, I don't think I can forgive you even one more time but I am so drawn to you, you are so drawn to me. We can't walk away but is love enough? Is it really enough? I know you still love me and I still love you but is it enough? Are you enough? Can I accept you for all your faults? I just don't know and it's killing me.

Monday, June 22, 2009

I don't know why I'm surprised...but I am. I don't know why I expected any different from you...but I did.

It all started in August when I noticed that our daughter's college fund that MY grandfather set up for her was emptied out. You of course denied it over and over again. Before you finally figured out that there was no possibility for you to get out of being caught. Only then did you own up to stealing money from our daughter. What was the reason you took it??? You too this day refuse to give me one. You too this day have promised a zillion times to replace the money and open her account back up, but too this day you haven't. BUT that was my fault I should never have put you on the account as a custodian. WHAT??? I should not have put the father on the account in case something happened to me??

Then in November I find out that the Christmas Club you had been assuring me for months that you had for our daughter's Christmas was FICTIONAL. As in it NEVER existed!!! So it was left up to me to scramble around and find a way to give our daughter something for Christmas. Thank goodness my family let me borrow money so that she would have something to open on Christmas morning.

Then I find out that you took my ATM card..for MY account-not yours-not ours MINE, and took every dime that was in it. A $4,000 tax return ALL of it. Thereby leaving me with no money to get our daughter anything for her 3rd birthday!!! I work at a Sheriffs Office....why do I let you get away with this??? Because you are a paramedic and if I charge you then you won't have a job at all. So which is worse??? Either way we have no money...

All this time you have cried to me about how much you love our girl and me...and this has happened because I never taught you how to tell the truth!! Exscuse me???? I NEVER taught you?? My parents taught me and I plan on teaching our daughter to..so why didn't your parents teach you? You are 37 years old I shouldn't have to give you classes on the difference between the truth and a lie. I shouldn't have to teach you the difference between right and wrong.

And then yesterday I find out that you've done it again. Taken every penny out of MY bank account (by stealing my ATM card). Why am I surprised?? Why did I expect you to be different? Just because you promised me and my family and our little girl that you would never let this happen again. 2 months worth of paychecks...

So my question is this..we don't get paid until May 15th-today is May 6th- HOW am I supposed to feed our daughter??? How am I supposed to pay our bills?? How am I supposed to keep a roof over our heads??

Do you honestly think that your filthy rich parents who live several states away-that incidently have NO EARTHLY IDEA how to spell their granddaughters name- are going to bail you out?? They are as disgusted with you as I am.

I suppose I should have taken a clue when I finally realized that nobody in your family wants anything to do with you. But you were the father of my child and I thought you deserved a chance and another chance and another chance.

I want soooo badly to just kick you out of my house...out of my life...out of our daughters life. But if I can't make it now with both of us working how in the world could I make it alone? I have several friends who have offered to help but I can't let them do that. It is my problem not theirs.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

So a while ago I wrote a post here about my mental illness, general disgruntlement with New York City, and my ridiculous college. (It was called "Suffocating.") Some folks in the comments section wanted to know how that all ended up, so here it is:

I found a subletter for my apartment, sold eighty percent of my clothing to Beacon’s Closet, packed up my cowboy boots and my snowboard, and high-tailed it back to Colorado faster than you can say “spring semester medical leave.”

Or rather, that’s how it should’ve happened. It is true that I left, but it was more complicated than that. I met this boy. Theme parties are dangerous in so many ways, Internet. On October 29th, I went to a Black Friday party with my hair in pin curls. We drank gin out of a bathtub, blasted jazz on vinyl and celebrated our forthcoming decline into financial ruin. There was a boy wearing suspenders and a fedora playing piano. Like, really, really mind-blowing piano. It was his twenty-first birthday. I told him that my birthday is also on the anniversary of a terrible event: JFK’s assassination. He was a piano major at the jazz conservatory at [my ridiculous college].

The day before I went to this party, I had called my parents and told them I was leaving New York, and would never step foot in it again except maybe for Passover Seder.

I am so not that girl. I don’t do things for boys, like move across half a continent. But here I am, living in Colorado, screaming about how miserable it is to be alive in front of a great shrink twice a week, auditioning medications into my system, and moving back to God Damn New York in August, to pull one more semester at my God Damn College. He’s been out here twice; I taught him to snowboard. I spent ten days at his family’s house on the Puget Sound in January, baking bread with his mother for their co-op. (Yes. It’s exactly how it sounds.) Let’s back up.

I said to him: “I’m miserable and moving away, but I’ll have coffee with you and be your friend.” He said, “Okay.” Stupid. What that ALWAYS means is “I will marry you, move to Portland, and have your genius babies. On the weekends we can go antiquing.” Internet, we had a lot of coffee. (BTW, coffee means sex.) The plan was to have a lot of coffee, never commit, I would leave and that would be that. Then we started doing terrible things like having conversations, going to Prop 8 protests, and revealing intimate facts about ourselves like “I am batshit insane sometimes because I have unmedicated bipolar disorder, can you pull my boot off because I’m sobbing uncontrollably and can’t do anything at the moment thanks.” He stayed. Even after he saw me have a panic attack about how to put on pants.

I had an ovarian cyst rupture in November, (My third, and yes, I’m on the pill for it. Look how effective that treatment is!) and he skipped an entire day of class to hang out in the emergency room with me while I got high on morphine. He read aloud to me the last forty pages of Eclipse, which I had crawled into my room to grab as the paramedics banged on my front door. I had it clutched to my chest when they loaded my into the ambulance. (He doesn’t like it when I tell people that he has recited Stephanie Meyer aloud, but hot damn, that makes a keeper, doesn’t it?)

I love him, Internet. I love him more than I hate New York. (And I really, really hate it there.) So I’m moving back, with an arsenal of legally-acquired Xanax, a team of mental health professionals already found, and my very tired snowboard. It’s only until we both graduate, which is two more years, because he is earning two degrees at once, (a BFA and BA) and I am scholastically incompetent. After that, he wants to ride a motorcycle with me across Europe. My only concern was, how would all of my Sephora Problem fit onto a motorcycle? He said, “We can get a side car.” Oy Vey.

Recently my wallet was stolen(on the one day I didn't friggin put it in the back room.) I had a Mastercard and a bank card and some cash in it. The minute I found out it was gone (I was at work so a little busy) I called Mastercard and flagged it was stolen. I tried to call my bank and flag them as well...but it kept hanging up on me (if this ever happens to you, hit 0 until it friggen puts you through!! I so wish my bank's automated system told me that..) I got a phone call from a "representative" of my bank, saying they just caught someone with my wallet. I was so extremely excited that I let slip my pin when asked an onslaught of questions. The "representative" took money from my account.

Yes I know...WTF was I thinking? I wasn't.

PLEASE Ladies if you EVER have your wallet stolen and a "representative" calls the SAME day...for the love of god HANG UP!(an actual bank representative asked me if they had asked me a security question, I said no...then asked him if he asked me one... he didn't) it's like 99% guaranteed it's the thief, standing at whichever bank you go to waiting for you to slip up in your excitement of the thought of them being caught, and give them your pin.

She managed to use my Mastercard in a store before she called to get my pin from me. So please also make sure you get ID'd everytime you use your credit card!!!! get the cards with chips in them! keep your wallets in a safe place!

Monday, June 15, 2009

I've been doing this writing thing for a while now and I truly enjoy it.

Before I was a writer I had an office job, before that I worked retail and I can say that this is a much more rewarding (although somewhat less lucrative - so far) profession.

However...

(and you knew there was going to be a however, or why would I be here in the Basement?)

... one thing I could do without are the writing prompts.

Family member: Why don't you write about the cute little penguin in the wetsuit?

Neighbor: You should write about re-doing your laundry.

And the worst, most offensive of all - an editor at a group blog (and UNPAID group blog, mind you) "The hottest news topic today is David Kellerman, the Freddie Mac CFO who committed suicide. I can't think of anything to say about that, but maybe you can."

I'd say that is inappropriate for a regional parenting website, but maybe I am not the boss for a reason.

I have been doing this writing thing for a while now and if you want to write about penguins or laundry or David Kellerman go ahead and do so, but mind your own business and leave me the hell alone.

Friday, June 12, 2009

A few days ago I was over at my sisters visiting. My sis "J" was noticeably so I asked her if she was ok…what she proceeded to tell me completely floored me.

My niece, my little 9 year old niece that I love to bits and have lived with for 5 years on and off helping to raise, well she has a journal and lately J has been having an odd feeling so on a whim when she was up in her room putting laundry away upon seeing her journal laying on her desk….she read it.

Now I do not agree with her reading it at all...that's something very personal and yes even though my niece is only 9 it's still personal….but.

What she found in there warranted some concern…scratch that….A LOT of concern!

My little niece has this boy who likes her and of course she's crushing right back…..turns out this little boy has commented that he wants to have sex with her. That's right... SEX!!!! J told me this and I swear to god my heart stopped.

When my sis and I were growing up we were raised in a very religious house…very religious, plus my mom was in a serious car accident when I was quite young, one that resulted in her having brain damage that made her acting like an actual mom fairly impossible. I didn't learn about sex until I was 15…and that was from romance books..and I didn't even have sex until I was almost 25, not for lack of opportunity but because I consider it something special. I was also very inappropriately touched when I was young throughout my teen years by extended family members, "friends" of the family and boys at school..and I had NO idea what was really going on. I knew it was wrong but that was it.

J and I had had numerous chats before she had kids and she had told me she was going to start having the body talk, inappropriate touching and sex talk early. So when she told me that my niece had written this I asked her if they had already had "the talks"…..and I couldn't believe it when she said no….and even more concerned when she expressed…almost disgust…at the thought of having to have the sex talk with her 9 year old. I think, mostly with the fact that she thinks , as I do, that 9 is WAY too early to even be thinking of sex.

Am I out of line to be concerned? I just don't understand how she could have waited for so long. Girls are starting to become sexually active so much earlier then when I was a kid and seriously..I am only 27!! When I have kids..boys included..I plan on talking to them as soon as they can talk. Of course not the whole adult explanation but things they CAN understand, such as that their bodies are private and special, bad touches, good touches. I don't want my kids to learn about sex and their bodies from their "friends", I want them to be able to come to me and talk to me about anything…about any concerns or questions, no matter what.

I'm now also concerned that my niece will hide even more from my sister. They have such clashing personalities that they don't always get along and it's getting worse as my niece gets older. She knows she can come to me and talk to me about anything but my sis doesn't like me to "interfere" as I'm not her mother.

J talked to my niece after she read her journal and it turns out the boy didn't tell my niece this directly but was talking to some of his friends who then told my niece. But now also..my niece knows that J read her journal….what if she stops writing in it? I don't know what I would have done..would I have read the journal and then talked to my niece in a roundabout way? Would I have admitted to it? Or would I have just sat her down and had the talk without admitting to knowing anything?

I don't know what to do….I'm just so worried. I want to talk to my niece but I don't want to overstep my boundaries. I am not her mom and I know this…I know it's not my place. My sis is a wonderful mom, she really is but I think this is just really uncharted territory.

So what do I do? Do I talk to my sis and ask her if they've had the talk? Do I talk to my niece? Do I just let her know if she has any questions that she can talk to me? Do I then relay her questions to my sis? I've encouraged her numerous times before to talk to her parents if she has any questions at all and I know she does sometimes.

I am not looking forward to being a mom when it comes to this….can't we keep them little forever???

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

OK, ladies, grab a drink and clear out some time, this is gonna take a while - it's a long story, even by my standards.

Right up front, I was raped when I was 12. It was a violent thing, nasty, and I ended up with rather severe PTSD. Part of the messed-up-ness was because he told me the standard, "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you and your family," which I believed wholeheartedly. So my parents didn't find out for three years, and then it was during a fight that I kind of threw it at them. They were shocked and upset, as you can imagine. I didn't fully grasp it then, but now with children of my own, I have an idea of how completely devastating that would be to hear.

At my mother's insistence, I went to two therapists, once each. The first was a family therapist, who first met with me alone and told me, "OK, when your parents come in the room, I want you to tell them why you kept that secret for three years." I was a pissed-off 15-year-old, totally not ready to work with her or get healthy, so needless to say, I clammed up and refused to go again. The next one sat knee-to-knee with me and said, in that stereotypical overtherapisty sicky-sweet kind of way, "Tell me everything that happened." She was literally in my face, and her eyes looked like ET's eyes. Again, I clammed up and wouldn't go back. After that, my mother stopped trying to get me to see anyone, and she never, ever mentioned anything about it.

And that's how it continued for the next 17 years. Once in a while I would make a vague reference to it, she would become visibly uncomfortable, and one of us would change the subject. Fine, I can't blame her there, that Mom-guilt has got to kick in, blah blah. I did get therapy - two full years with the same woman, when I was 21-22. And took medication then, and generally worked harder than I've ever worked in my life and turned a lot of things around. I got healthy, basically. Eventually. It just so happens that this June will mark 20 years since the attack, and I am grateful for just how good my life is, even when it's hard.

Anyway, fast-forward to last weekend. When we were visiting her house, I took the kids to the zoo and left Willem at my mom's house doing schoolwork. He and my mom were alone in the house, and when he took his lunch break, she kind of cornered him. It started appropriately enough: "I'm really concerned about Kate, I hope she's getting treatment, I want you to know that I'm always here, if you or she needs a place to get away for a while..." A little pushy, in spots, but not unreasonably so, coming from a mom.

Then she brought up my blog, which she does not read, has never read, refuses to read despite my assurances that it is public and written with the knowledge that anyone might visit. But because of two factors, I've been much more forthcoming and descriptive about the rape in recent months. One, I've reached a stage in my life where I feel a need to stop treating it as a secret, shameful thing, and can share the details because it might resonate with somebody, might even help someone, somehow. And two, because I've been so depressed, I have been way much in touch with my unhappy memories. Whenever you're feeling something of a certain intensity, it's going to remind you of other times in your life when you've felt similarly.

So, my sisters read my blog once in a while - not every day, but when they have time and interest. Which is fine, I don't mind them stopping by and I don't expect them to be daily readers. They read one of the more graphic posts, maybe in January or so, and Sarah (my 22-year-old sister) was upset about it. She's very empathic by nature, so it makes sense that it would have hit her hard. She went to my mother with it, because she was afraid it would hurt me more (this is before I was even on an antidepressant, much less having it start to work).

So (GAWD this is a long lead-up, but I can't figure out how to explain it differently), my mother mentioned that all to Willem, about how intense the post was and how it upset the girls, and how "they never visit the blog anymore now" - which is untrue, I haven't noticed any change in their frequency of comments. And then.

She said to him, my husband of 8 1/2 years and most trusted confidante, who has seen me go through the worst of the PTSD and come out on the other side... she said, "You know, the longer Kate goes on believing that this happened, the harder it's going to be on her. It never happened." And she repeated, "It never happened."

Willem told me the next day - he didn't want to mess up the weekend, and rightly so. Because it has really, really messed me up. (Again, thank God for Zoloft, if it hadn't kicked in I would be a blithering, sobbing puddle.)

And, to make it all MORE fun, I called her on Monday to talk to her about it - I'd have called her when I found out, but we were in the car with the kids and didn't get home until 11:00. I just don't believe in letting things fester too long, and I knew this was something that wouldn't just ease up if I gave it some time - it was going to eat away at me until I talked to her about it. She denied ever saying that. She says that she told Willem, "I don't know the details of what happened, because I wasn't there, and nobody except Kate knows those details." But I've known Willem a long time, and conversed (and argued!) with him over a lot of years. I know that he very rarely can remember the specific words that someone used, he gets the broad idea but can't quote (I can, neener neener) but when he does remember, he is always right and very firm about it.

Which means my mother is lying about her words, and apparently she either believes that I am lying about the rape, or that I am delusional. I know this, not just think it, because later in the week I talked to Sarah about it - I wanted to let her know that I knew about the weirdness with Mom and that she could always come to me with any questions she might have, just to get both sides of the story. She jumped at the chance to ask a few questions (mostly, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" to which the answer is, I wasn't ready to share earlier, plus you haven't been an adult for all that long.) And then she said that Mom told her the exact same thing in January, before I could tell her about the Willem-interaction..

I have confronted my mother with it, and it just went nowhere. She is so completely defended against this, she has all of her lines and reasons all figured out already. And I have no idea who else she has told.

I can't wrap my head around this. I can't understand why she feels the need to share her disbelief with others. What bothers me isn't that she disbelieves me - I can't control that, obviously. There's no way I could "prove" it to her, and I would never force her to listen or read all about it. What bothers me is that she has chosen to seek out other loved ones and tell them about her thoughts. Now I have three of the closest people in my world involved, with Willem and Sarah telling the same story (and without having talked to each other about it) and no motivation to lie about it, and my mother denying it completely... both the initial act and her subsequent statements.

I'm someone who copes best with situations if I have some idea of why it happened... I don't need to agree with the why, I just need to understand it. But I don't understand hers. My best guess is that she believes something like, "If something like that happened to my 12-year-old child, I would have noticed something wrong." My parents always labeled me as overdramatic, and apparently she is now forgetting the hypersexuality, the panic attacks, the refusal to sleep in my own room because there was only one door to escape from, and so on. So it has become a measure of her own parenthood - if I truly was raped, then that means she didn't do everything right, at least in the follow-up, and she can't live with that. Or something.

I imagine that it's just too painful for her to imagine that she missed that. I have long since taken responsibility for my own actions - and my own bad choices, like chronic lying and hiding the experience for many years - and have had to let go of any resentment I might have had that she wasn't psychic or perfect. I know she did the best she could at the time.

Sigh. If you've made it this far, thanks for hanging in there. It's a lot, isn't it?

I wish I could just let it lie, smooth it over... because apart from this, our relationship has really grown strong in the past few years. But it has really been gnawing at me. And I just can't see how it would be healthy for me to ignore the sense of betrayal and hurt I'm feeling right now.

So, what do I do now?? Given that I've already had two very long, unsuccessful, unpleasant phone calls with her about it and have gotten precisely nowhere.

And how do I understand this better? Because she's denying so much that I'm not getting any sort of guidance from her, about why it serves her better to disbelieve and tell others than to believe, or to disbelieve and keep it to herself.

She has been very hurtful through those calls, critical of me (ohbytheway, she also doesn't believe that I ever went through any sort of therapy for this), comparing me to her emotionally abusive coworker, talking about how "Now I can't just relax and be myself around anyone because I'm afraid I'll be misunderstood and punished for it" (an excellent attempt at a guilt trip, I have to admit).

My mom is a lot like me in a lot of ways - she can come across as almost too assertive, intimidatingly confident, very self-assured, even when she's not feeling at all like that inside. She Does Not like to be caught or accused of making a mistake or doing something hurtful (not like any of us do, but she's especially defensive about it), even if it's something small like being chronically late or confusing the day's plans.

Anyway. Enough. Sorry this was so endless, but it feels better to vent and organize it a little... I can't blog it. I don't want my sisters feeling any more in-the-middle than they already do, and I just don't feel the need to preemptively defend myself there - but I really could use some insight.

PS: As an update, after writing the above, I decided to wait until I had something to say before calling my mother again. A month went by, and I finally called her on Mother's Day, mostly to let the kids talk to her. I kept my side of the conversation quick and light, no more than polite. Apparently this signaled to my mother that everything is A-OK now, all smoothed over, like it never happened. She calls me a few times a week "just to chat" and hasn't even obliquely referred to any of this. I've continued to be polite, to call if there's something I need to know (she's hosting my sister's high school graduation in a few weeks), and to wonder what this is really all about. I'm not angry, or even overtly upset anymore, mostly just disappointed and baffled. And I still don't know what to do.

Monday, June 08, 2009

There was a reason I didn't hide that Easter Egg. It was a test. You failed.

No doubt when you get back from your trip you'll say that I know you have no self-control when it comes to chocolate and you'll offer to replace it. That's not the point. I don't see why I have to hide what belongs to me from you. You are not a child. You are a grown woman and I treat you the way I would treat a grown woman. It's not like I buy chocolate on purpose to tempt you, I buy it so I can eat it myself when I feel like it. I happened to feel like eating chocolate when I got home from visiting my family today, and it was gone.

This may seem like a petty thing to complain about, but it's one of a collection of things that make living with you a pain in the proverbial. We are best friends, and I do like living with my best friend, but not when she's so wrapped up in her own life and dramas that she barely talks to me, except to tell me what her other friends say and do. I'm pretty sick of hearing you say "well, I live with you," as an excuse for not interacting with me. A little common courtesy, asking me how may day was for example, or leaving your room to hold a conversation. I'd really like that.

I'm sick of always having to do the dishes by myself, and your little suggestion of only doing our own washing up is antisocial, not to mention a handy way of pinning it all on me when I make dinner for both of us. I'll consider it when you stop eating what I cook. I also have a big problem with you bitching about buying the milk and the toilet paper the last few times, when it was pretty obvious you used all the gas while I was away that time and I never said a thing. I'm also responsible for most of the groceries in this house, and you keeping the radiator in your room on all day while you're working in there is a huge drain on the electricity I am mostly responsible for.

I was disappointed when you said you were going to move abroad, and then said I was crazy for wanting to stay here. Now I think I'll be glad to see you gone. I really don't like that you thought I'd be forced to move somewhere else without you and you were going to do it anyway. I don't think it's down to any malice on your part, but it means you are horrifically irresponsible.

And that's what it comes right down to, isn't it? People who can up and leave so quickly and with so little thought can claim they love to travel, but they're really just running from responsibility. You're resentful that you have to be responsible for anyone but yourself. As much as I love you, I had to agree with your ex-boyfriend; you are awfully self-absorbed. You hate people who are self-absorbed and boring, and yet you can be one of the dullest people I know. You're in real danger of becoming one of those people who does nothing but work or surf the net all day and then go drinking every weekend.

So, my advice before you set off for pastures new? Learn some self-control for starters. Not just with the chocolate, but how about getting yourself up in the morning? Or not putting off your work so you can surf the web? And maybe interact with the people around you in ways that don't involve drinking or the internet? Maybe just take some time away from your computer for a whole day, see what happens.

It's a real shame our friendship has deteriorated to the point that I'm posting passive-aggressive messages online about you. I can start making a real effort to repair it, but I can't be your cheerleader forever. Sooner or later you'll have to do it alone.

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

I never imagined that this would happen. I never imagined that I would be in a marriage where I wanted sex more than my husband. I never imagined that YOU would lose interest in sex, considering how insatiable you were before we got married. But when we got married, it was like a switch got flipped inside you, and everything suddenly changed. The sex on our honeymoon was awkward and flat. I attributed it to being tired, but to be honest I was filled with fear because something just didn't feel right. I actually wondered if I had just made a big mistake. For the first few months, we had sex 2 or 3 times a week at the most - which is find I suppose, but hardly the sex-fest that many newlyweds experience. Pretty quickly it turned into 3 to 4 times a month. For the last year it has been more like one time a month, sometimes not at all. Do you have any idea how humiliating it feels to know that in less than two years of marriage, my husband already doesn't want to have sex with me? You have recognized that this is not good, but you don't seem particularly eager to try to make it better.

You seem to attribute at least some of this problem to your promiscuity prior to our relationship. You say that sex has become completely detached from love in your mind, and that you can never see sex as something good and wholesome. And so I guess since sex between us is perfectly legitimate now, it has lost interest for you? If that is the case - shouldn't you get counseling or something to help you overcome that? Because it's obviously unhealthy. Maybe counseling won't help, but it would make me feel a little better if you would at least try! It really hurts to think that I have to pay now for the sins of your past.

But I am worried that this is not the whole story. At first I worried that there was a medical component. Lack of sex drive in a man can be a symptom for serious health problems. Well, you've been to a doctor, and both you and the doctor seem satisfied. But I'm not satisfied. I am not even convinced you actually talked to the doctor about it. I am hurt and I am filled with fear and insecurity.

When I brought this up the other night, you told me that you think do about our nonexistent sex-life too, but that you don't know how many of your thoughts to share with me because you are afraid they will hurt me. I told you not to tell me unless it would help the situation. You remained silent. And so now I am both maddeningly curious and yet terrified of what sort of thoughts you have been having. I am afraid that you are going to cheat on me. I am afraid that you haven't really lost interest in sex at all, but that you have just lost interest in it with me. I've even wondered if you are gay.

My self-esteem has always been fragile and broken. Imagine the constant and very tangible sense of rejection that I feel now! I used to try to initiate sex, but after being refused several times I can't do that anymore because its hurts too much. So now, every night I just have to hope that you will want to be intimate with me, and every night I fall asleep sad, our backs turned to each other.

I hate, absolutely loathe my body, partly because I am convinced that you are disgusted by me. Intellectually, I know this is bullshit. I recognize that I am about 15 pounds overweight, and that when we got engaged I was much more fit. I know that I should lose some weight and get healthier - these are reasonable things that I admit. But I don't look THAT bad. If your sexual attraction to me was so easily lost, then you are one superficial sonofabitch. For heaven's sake, I still desire you despite your physical flaws! And even if my body was perfect now, age would eventually take that away, so what then? My guilt and self-loathing is made worse by the behavior I resort to to deal with being sex-deprived. I indulge in sexual fantasies - never involving you - and maturbate just to relieve the tension. But then I am left feeling digusted and humiliated. My self-esteem is completely shattered. I won't even let you see me naked anymore, not without some kind of covering and a whole lot of shame. I doubt you have even noticed, or even care.

This has all been hurtful enough as it is, but last night it got worse than I thought. Last night, you admitted that you have no desire to have kids with me. You said you might want to adopt someday, but that the thought of actually having kids holds no attraction for you. Oh yeah? Since fucking when?! When I was obviously shaken by your admission, you backpeddled and said you probably wouldn't feel this way forever. Probably? You are fucking 32 years old, just when do you PROBABLY think this desire will come back? You never gave me one inkling of this when we were dating and engaged. I was always under the impression that you most definitely did want kids with me. You have given me that impression in a hundred different conversations. So what changed?

I am starting to despair, wondering how to come to terms with the scary possibility that I am stuck in a sexless, childless marriage.

The crazy thing is, in every other way, our marriage is amazing. We talk and laugh, we share the same convictions and beliefs, we enjoy each other's company, we are affectionate and comforting to each other. I love you so much, and I miss you when you are not around! But for months I have had this constant sadness and fear pressing on my heart, and I wonder how long I can live with it? Will the sadness eventually go away, or will it grow until it devours our marriage? Part of me thinks I am over-reacting, that I just need to give it time. But what if nothing changes? What if it can't be fixed? I don't want to wait until it is too late. Aren't men supposed to want sex all the time? Why do I feel like I am the one with the problem, like I am some kind of sex-obsessed slut for actually wanting to have sex with you? Should I just be able to get over this and move on?

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

By the night of my 8th grade dance at the end of the school year, which marked the elusive transition from middle to high school, I was already experimenting with drugs and alcohol.

Nothing major really, just drinking a few hard lemonades at a friend’s house while hoping I looked cool smoking that cigarette. My cousin and I had snuck out while we were camping with the family to sit by the river at night. We happened to encounter two gothic girls smoking pot out of a socket while listening to Marilyn Manson. We both smoked it, got a little buzzed and giggled in the dark as we walked back to our tents hoping we wouldn’t get caught stepping on stick or rustling some leaves.

Nothing major really. But the night of our dance I wanted to “have fun” and I thought all the older kids probably party on prom night and damn it, I wanted to party too. After all, I had always associated being “mature” with partying. So I ingested about 12 pills of a cough suppressant in hopes of “tripping” while at the dance. I soon found myself vomiting in the bathroom, covered in sweat and gaining attention from other girls in the bathroom. “Are you okay?” asked a blurry dark haired figure. “Must have ate some bad chicken” I told her the best I could in between heaves while I tried not to look at the little red dots floating in the toilet water and stomach bile. The assistant principle soon stood outside the door of the stall. She wanted to take me into the office where I could “lie down and sit in the A/C.” I couldn’t even walk to the office by myself and I don’t even know who helped me slump my way over there. They called my parents, (well .. my mom and step-father,) who soon picked me up. They told my parents they thought I was on ecstacy and that they might want to take me to the hospital to be sure. My step-dad slung me over his shoulder and carried me to the car. He fiercely interrogated me, asking me what I took, who gave it to me, saying he was going to kick their ass, etc. They didn’t take me to the hospital though. After being carried to my room, I laid down in my dress and asked him if I was going to die. He laughed a little and said no, I was probably just going to sleep for a while.

We talked about it the next day but I was never in trouble. They expressed their concerns, and admitted to some experimentation of their own. OK, not really experimentation. Usage. My own parents told me if there was a drug I wanted to try, to please let them know and they will get it for me. I mean, after all, they used to be big “rock stars” and all.

They didn’t want me to get hurt, or get ripped off, or buy something laced and be in a safe environment. I actually thought it was cool at the time. Can you really blame me? At 13 I was allowed to drink in my own house, as long as I didn’t leave and it was a widely known fact that I smoked pot in my room sometimes with friends. My stepdad and I even smoked together on occasion. That following Christmas I told them I wanted to try cocaine. I was 14 and it just so happened that they had some. I did one line and we laid on the bed and talked about the high and how “cocaine was an evil drug and isn’t really that much fun anymore…not like it used to be. But that the real high comes from ecstacy.” Naturally, I wanted to try it. We made plans and my younger siblings stayed at friend’s houses and me and my mom and my stepdad did ecsctacy together. I ate a bean and soon felt the “ecstacy” of ecstacy. We listened to music and sang and dance and snorted more beans throughout the night. We didn’t go to bed until daylight. I was barely 15. In total we did ecstacy together at least 6 or 7 times before I went back to live with my dad who has no idea anything like this ever went on. It just feels like such a weight now that I am older, a whole 21 years of age. It doesn’t seem cool anymore. It seems FUCKED UP. And I’m not saying that I had a bad time when we actually partied, it's just weird now. And I don’t think just on my end. Whenever I go home to visit there is always this weird awkward moment when I am introduced to one of their new friends in a party setting and they bust out a mound of cocaine or crushed up beans and snort a line right. In. Front. Of. Me.

And why shouldn’t they? I have done it with them. I just wish that I could have the balls to tell them that I feel ….not right ..about what happened. Part of me wants to forgive them and say it was a mistake and part of me wants to let myself sob and ask them how they could put me in harm’s way like that? How they could voluntarily retire from being a parent and try to become a cohort? I have been in denial about the fact that this is an unusual and somewhat sad situation of a parent/child relationship. When my friends would bring it up in conversation, I would defend and protect them because I didn’t want anyone to think badly of them. They were trying to be cool and understanding, but really it warped my outlook on life from a young age. So now here I sit at 21 years of age resenting the fact my parents tried to let me experiment while so many people resent their parents for the exact opposite.

Monday, June 01, 2009

I’m sorry to have hurt you like this. I just really needed to take a step back away from all of the drama that surrounds you and my sister. At times it feels like it’s engulfing me and putting my family in pain.

I’m tired of the family always asking me if I’ve seen or talked to you. I’m tired of being told I should make the effort even if you aren’t. It’s not fair to me to be the only one trying. I do not appreciate you telling my aunt that you call regularly and leave messages but I don’t call you back. If you leave me a message I always call you back. You rarely call me; you didn’t even bother to call me on Christmas. Every other year I called you. I’m tired of putting all the effort in. I have a very busy life of my own to worry about. It aggravates me to no end that you tell everyone how much you miss my boys but you’ve never once bothered to pick up the phone to specifically talk to them. Not once mom, no matter what you like to tell everyone.

That’s another thing. Your lies are out of control. Sometimes I don’t know if you know what the truth is anymore. I have caught you in lies about stupid stuff that doesn’t even matter. You lie about why you need money. You called me and told me drug dealers wanted $5000 from you or they were going to kill you. Seriously mom, how stupid do you think I am? My sister has called me numerous times because you’ve wanted her to get money from people she knows. You ask for thousands of dollars at a time. It would be one thing if you got into a jam once or twice for a few hundred, but you have many times over asked for thousands of dollars. What are you doing with your money? Normally I would say it’s none of my business but you’re the one that came to me needing money so you made it my business. I am really worried about you. Money isn’t the only thing you lie about though. I’m tired of lies, lies and more lies. You and my sister both are bad about that.

My sister is another thing. No matter what you say or want to think. She always came first in your life. If she did something the boys were blamed. When they moved out I got blamed. My brother’s wife didn’t tell you the truth about the type of parent you were to the boys because she isn’t the type of person to hurt someone else. The boys walked away from you because everything was always their fault, never my sister’s.

When I had my sister arrested because I was finally fed up with getting hit you told the police I should be arrested. You told them I started the fight, even though my sister did. You let me move out onto the streets when I was 16 with nowhere to go instead of kicking her out even though she was 26 and old enough to be on her own. When she busted a blood vessel in my eye (I was 12) you said I must have done something to deserve it. She hit me plenty of times and you never once stopped it. You’ve never protected me. You made me feel like I was unlovable and unworthy of love. Do you know how screwed up it is to tell your child her father wanted an abortion? He told me you wanted one after I told him you said that. I can remember plenty of times you slapping the shit out of me because I would fight back when my sister would start fights with me. I know I wasn’t a perfect kid, but I was pretty damn good. I was respectful, I stayed out of trouble, made good grades while I worked full time. I didn’t go out partying, I was the sober one to make sure my friends would be safe. Nothing I did was ever good enough to get your attention. You were so focused on my sister and niece. I was your minor child. I should have been your focus. I should have been killed in that car accident and I couldn’t even find you to bring me home from the hospital. You were out getting drunk. I remember calling hospitals because you didn’t come home all night. I woke up at 7 and when I noticed you still weren’t home I was scared you were killed in a drunk driving accident.

After my sister finally moved out you spent more time in a bar then you did at home. You were so worried about chasing men that it didn’t register you still had a kid to raise. Thank god I did a decent job of raising myself. Yeah you were there while I bowled and was in Job’s daughters, but you weren’t involved in it. I felt like you were there because it made you look good because I was good at both of them. I can remember you yelling at me plenty of times while bowling because I wasn’t doing a good enough job.While growing up I pushed the hurt you caused me out of my heart. I figured I couldn’t make you love me; I couldn’t make you think I was as good as my sister so why get upset about it. After I had my own children all that pain came back. I look at my babies and I actually interact and play with them. I enjoy them so much. I am involved with every facet of their life. I look at them and wonder why wasn’t I good enough for you to want that with me? Why wasn’t I good enough to play with? Why wasn’t I good enough to talk to? Why wasn’t I as good to you as my sister is? You can keep telling yourself you were equal to me and my sister, you can keep telling yourself and everyone you love us the same, but I was there. There was no equality in that house. My sister was the light of your life. Two of my brothers both agree that my sister was it for you.

You told the family way before my husband and I ever had problems that he was cheating on me. You say my niece told you he was. What about asking me first before spreading it around? My life is my life; it’s not gossip material for you to spread. You keep talking how my husband’s family treats me like shit. They used to, but not anymore. How they treated me was my fault too. It’s been instilled in me that I do not deserve to be loved so I figured there was no way they would love me. I took everything as a slight because I was taught to be the victim. Now that I’ve finally let them into my heart and realize that they do love me, things are much better with them. I have a happy life here. I don’t miss the drama that I dealt with up there. I’m tired of you asking me when I’m going to visit “home” again but in all the time I’ve been gone you haven’t made the effort to visit me. 9 years is long enough to save the money to come visit. Last time I checked the road goes both ways. Quit telling people how much you miss us when you don’t bother to call or even attempt to visit.

I’m not ready to have a relationship with you right now. I don’t know if or when I will ever be. It’s too hard to love my kids as much as I do and have my heartbreak knowing you never once made me feel that way. When they wake up scared or sick at night, I go to them willingly with no anger. When I was 12 I cried out for you because I was sick and you yelled at me. I realized then, you wouldn’t be protecting me; you weren’t there to make things better. I was 12 when I first started thinking about suicide. I felt so alone and unloved. I thought my own mom doesn’t love me; my dad was wrapped into himself because of grief. If they couldn’t be there for me I would be better off dead. I wanted the pain to stop. Thankfully I realized I didn’t want to go to hell so I stopped myself. I prayed every single night for God to let me die. I was so angry with God because I thought he was tormenting me by making me go through life unloved. I thought I was a bad person because I was so unlovable. I thought God was punishing me for being so bad. I prayed and prayed to die. I prayed until I met my husband and finally found someone willing to give me his heart. Do you have any idea how hard it is to spend that much time waiting for God to let you die so you won’t hurt anymore?

I wish I could forget, and let it go. But there are so many things I remember, so much hurt I felt, it just stays at the surface. This hurt, this pain, this anger, it’s enough to make me scream. I can remember you threatening not to sign the financial aid paperwork for college because you were mad at me. You said you wouldn’t help me with school. When I told you all you had to do was to sign the papers, you told me you wouldn’t. What kind of mom says that to her kid?

I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready to talk to you. I’ve got things to work out in my heart before I can deal with this drama. I’m tired of lies, especially the lies that are easily found out. I’m not a stupid person, when you lie to me I will uncover the truth. When you tell crazy out there lies, I know it’s a lie. I can tell by the tone of your voice when you’re telling lies or stretching the truth. We can’t have a relationship until you figure out how to stop with the lies. Relationships can only be built on the truth.